


Copacetic

by Azzandra



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ouroboros Mix, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-Game AU, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Karkat frets about everything and is definitely not avoiding his moirail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Copacetic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bramblePatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblePatch/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Serendipity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/266236) by [bramblePatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblePatch/pseuds/bramblePatch). 



It really does say something about the group of feckless douchebags you have played the Game with, that even life on the paradise planet you received as reward is still riddled with problems. You take a moment to think back on Past Karkat's concerns that he will be obsolete as a leader once you got here, and feel the urge to laugh in that gullible fucker's face.

In fact, you proceed to change your text to red and troll that asshole for the next few minutes, and even though you don't find any solutions to your current batch of problems, and Past Karkat remains the oblivious turdcracker you recall him to be, the whole exercise makes you feel marginally better. Marginally.

You sigh and put your elbows on the desk, sinking your claws into the mess you call your hair. The spreadsheet on your husktop's screen is unchanged and still unforgiving. You somehow didn't manage to yell at the correct people in time, and now your whole schedule's gone to shit. Your schedule receives even less respect than your memos ever did—a feat so incredible that it makes you want to pinch yourself to make sure you aren't asleep and caught in the tendrils of some horroterror-induced nightmare.

It's this goddamn planet, you swear. Dim days and bright nights and mild weather have somehow lulled everyone into believing that work is no longer necessary, even though you're pretty much building a new society from scratch, and that kind of thing requires that people get off their ass sometimes and cooperate.

Your hands clench, pulling on tufts of hair. You can feel scabs opening around your horns as the skin of your scalp is stretched. You don't scratch, you're careful not to scratch, but you keep your hands fisted in your hair for a while, unmoving, just feeling the burn of it. It's only the new cuts that open up again, the ones that came after you promised Gamzee you wouldn't-- That you wouldn't.

You let go of your hair abruptly and scrub your palms against your jeans as if that will erase the evidence of what you were doing.

 _It doesn't count_ , a little voice inside your head assures you. _You promised Gamzee you wouldn't scratch, and that wasn't scratching._

 _You sure about that, bro?_ Gamzee's voice echoes in your think pan, the imaginary voice muddled with concern and disappointment.

No, it wasn't. It wasn't scratching, and it didn't hurt the same, and you still feel wound-up and anxious-- god, you'd feel so much better if you could just-- a few more shallow scratches--

You snarl and slam your knee against the underside of your desk a few times, making it shudder. The frustration lingers, sour and unsatisfied.

Whatever. Another thing you fail at, go figure. You don't have time to sulk right now. You just have to accept the fact that you're a contemptible piece of excrement and move on with your life.

You click over to Trollian and scan the list of contacts, already planning how to tackle the latest crisis-in-the-making. Your hornbed itches, but you pretend you don't notice. And then you pretend that you're not just pretending not to notice, and between hating yourself just slightly above your regular self-loathing baseline and trying not to do anything that will disappoint your moirail further, you end up sending Rose a few messages that are more peevish than you intended.

She agrees to meet you anyway, so it doesn't really matter in the long run. Before you leave your respiteblock, you catch your reflection in the black screen of your powered-down husktop and you snap it shut with a bit more force than you intend.

 

* * *

 

Rose is already at the meeting spot when you get there. She's waiting by the fugly green frog-themed fountain, casually admiring the statue of Bilious Slick spouting water out of its mouth. She tilts her head in greeting when she sees you.

“Karkat, you're looking particularly cantankerous today,” she says by way of greeting.

“What's that supposed to mean?” You scowl and try to resist the urge to smooth down your hair. She doesn't know, you're pretty sure. After all this time, you know how Seer powers work.

“Must it mean anything? I was only making an observation,” she replies.

“Then maybe you should use that keen sense of observation on something a little more pressing than my mood,” you sneer. “Like maybe you could observe the fact that I'm the only one not taking our continued survival for granted while the rest of the douchecurds in our coterie of semi-competent nookhumps are running around like cluckbeasts with their heads cut off and stuffed up their assholes.”

“We survived death in a multitude of incarnations while embroiled in a game spanning several universes,” Rose says. “I doubt this is the planet that will finally do us in.”

“Well, good for you. I'm glad you're enjoying your position as morale officer of the headless cluckbeast assdiddlers army, but considering the fact that just in the past week, we've had people level a building, introduce a parasitic vine plant in our immediate environment and discover new ways to fuck up our already precarious communication system, I think I'm justified in showing just the vaguest smidgeon of concern for our situation.”

“And we appreciate the fact that you've handled all those issues with your usual aplomb,” Rose says, smiling at you. You feel like you're being patronized. “But that's just it, you've handled them. Equius promised to fix the hole in the wall, Jade and Kanaya have been eliminating the alien kudzu plants with great prejudice, and Sollux fixed our communication problem in his sleep, the way he tells it.”

This takes a lot of the steam out of the rant you were winding up for, but out of a sense of rhetorical inertia, you don't want to back down yet. You still have a list of a million different things that could be going wrong this very second. This is probably why Rose doesn't let you get a word in edgewise.

“Perhaps you should make some time for yourself,” she suggests. “And also for your moirail?”

“I make plenty of time for Gamzee,” you say, sounding maybe a little defensive. “You can tell because you're all still alive and not the centerpieces in a rainbow-vomit art installation themed 'fuckwaffles killed by clown in most embarrassing fashion possible'.”

You do make plenty of time for Gamzee, fuck Rose, what does she know about moirallegiance, _you're not avoiding him, you're not_ \--

“You should set up a date night,” she continues. “Or date day. Whichever is convenient. I'm sure you could think of some adequately soppy romantic gesture--”

“Oh god, we are not discussing my love life--” you moan.

“--that I am sure will transition seamlessly into a feelings jam or a cuddle pile, though Gamzee would probably be amenable to those two things regardless. Still, one must never take one's quadrantmates for granted--”

“Why are you doing this to me, please stop, I am begging you, alright, I am getting on my fucking knees and kissing your hem and begging you--”

You cut off abruptly because you notice Rose has ceased talking. She's sitting there, giving you that smug meowbeast look you've come to associate with the Lalondes.

“That will hardly be necessary,” she drawls.

You think the dramatic twist to your wrists as you present both middle fingers to her adds a certain panache that expresses your feelings quite clearly. No one can say that you can't flip people off like a pro.

“My recommendation still stands,” she says, still with that smile on her face. “Find Gamzee before the next sunset.”

“Why the next sunset?” you ask, puzzled enough that you drop both hands.

“It's simply an arbitrarily chosen point in time,” she replies. “But if given a deadline, you will be more likely to do as I say.”

“Is that one of your human head-shriveling tactics?”

“I think you mean head-shrinking. But yes, it is. An efficient tactic in my experience.”

“Bullshit, you can't make me do anything. Especially not when you're admitting that you're trying to make me do something.”

“I'm not making you do anything,” Rose shrugs.

“Pfft, whatever. Like that cheap trick is going to work on me,” you mutter.

Rose shakes her head at you, laughing soundlessly.

“Very well,” she says. “If that's all, I'd like to go now.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you mutter, even though you didn't get to discuss with her even one of the things you planned on.

“Say hello to Gamzee when you see him,” she adds over your shoulder.

You bare your teeth at her, but she is already gone.

You look up at the sky. It's late afternoon.

Like you even need someone to schedule your own dates for you.

 

* * *

 

Since you're out and about already, you decide to check up on a few more things. Tavros and Jade's makeshift domestication project has been, as she describes it, wildly successful, even though all they have to show for it is a type of small annoying barkbeast creature. You check on the cartography team next, tasked with mapping your surroundings and the whole planet eventually. Eridan is in charge of this one, because he declared himself in charge and John and Aradia are good-natured enough to let him boss them around, and he's proven astoundingly competent over the sweeps. You almost resent him his success, but hey, anything that keeps him from snapping is a good thing (and if he does snap, well, it's no coincidence you have two godtiers keeping a close eye on him).

You then check on the southern-most building of your settlement. It was converted into a robotics workshop soon after you arrived here. Much like all the other buildings that were seeded before your arrival here, it's green, but unlike the others, it's a smaller, stouter building with large double doors.

You go around to where the wall was knocked down last week through a combination of robots, one-upmanship and, if you're not missing your guess, concupiscent flirtation. Every day Equius and Dirk coyly dance around settling on a quadrant and putting an end to their explosive courtship is another day you feel like hitting your head against a desk until your nose becomes a permanent feature of the back of your head.

When you round the building to inspect the damage again (as you have a few times already, but you just like torturing yourself apparently), you're completely baffled to discover that the hole is completely gone.

Not only gone, but it looks like it was never even there. The smooth green wall is completely intact, and if you didn't know that you were sharing a planet with people who have powers over time and space, you'd start doubting your sanity right about now. You touch the wall to, you don't know, make sure it isn't an illusion or some shit, but you discover to your dismay that the wall is sticky.

Eww, now you have green paint on your fingers. You wipe them off on your pants, leaving green fingerprints. Fuck, you're just spreading this shit around now. Great job, Past Karkat, you insufferable shitlicking fucksquat, look what you did. You just want to throttle that guy, you just want to crouch down somewhere up of sight and sink your claws into your--

“The paint is still wet,” you're informed much too late.

You nearly jump out of your skin at Equius's abrupt appearance. Your train of thought crashes into a half-ton of guilt and derails.

“Thanks a fucking lot, bulgelick,” you sputter at Equius with all the force of your misplaced anger. “An assload of good that little nugget does me after I've already touched this crap.”

He raises an eyebrow at this outburst, but reaches into his sylladex and hands you a fresh towel anyway.

You take it, muttering thanks, and viciously wipe at your fingers.

“So you fixed the wall,” you say. “Uh... good job. That's great. Good job.”

“Dirk helped as well,” Equius says. “He was quite insistent on taking responsibility for the accident, though I assured him I was the one at fault.”

“Oh, don't worry, he was just as at fault for that mortifying hormone-induced spectacle as you were,” you assure him. “If he didn't take responsibility, I would have taken it out of his hide.”

“Still--”

“No, don't even fucking argue with me. I am sick to my nutrition sac of you two tip-toeing around the fucking subject all the time. Just ask him on a real date and get it the fuck over with before your emotional flailing causes anything worse than property damage.”

Equius swallows as a fresh sheen of sweat appears on his forehead.

“I will take that under advisement,” he says, and you hand him the towel.

He dabs it on his forehead, leaving little green specks of paint on his skin. You consider saying something, and decide against it.

“Perhaps I can offer a piece of friendly advise in turn. Have you talked to your moirail today?”

A cold chill runs down your spine.

“What? Why? What did he do? Did he say something to you?”

“No, no, not at all. My pardon, I did not mean to imply the Highblood has done anything reproachful. I merely mean...”

“You mean what? What the fuck do you mean?”

“I mean that you strike me as particularly tense today. Perhaps you need an... emotional release.”

“I'm not avoiding Gamzee.”

“I did not at any point say you were,” he deadpans.

“Well, good. Because I'm not.”

You lapse in awkward silence for a length of time that is too long by sheer virtue that it was even allowed to exist in the first place.

“I'm going to go now,” you say and depart.

Equius rumbles something in acknowledgment, but remains there, dabbing his face with the towel and looking at the wall with an expression of deep contemplation.

 

* * *

 

You don't make it all the way back to your hive. You hide yourself in a recessed doorway for cover and make sure nobody is around. Then you carefully thread your fingers through your hair and prod at the base of your horns.

There's dry blood, not quite scabbed over. You hesitate to touch it too much for fear of making yourself bleed again.

It's getting late in the day and the sun is hanging low on the horizon. It's such a weak thing that you can even sort of look at it with no harmful effects. You're not sure how long until it sets, but probably no more than an hour or two.

Then you chide yourself for acting absurdly. Rose doesn't get to tell you what to do. You'll see Gamzee when you feel like it. You don't have time right now. There are things you should be doing. Important things.

And you would have come up with many examples of those important things if the door behind you did not open and hit you in the rump at that very moment.

You jump and whirl around, suppressing a shriek.

“Shit, who did I hit? Karkat?”

Dave steps out out the building, frowning at you.

“Sorry, dude, didn't see you through the door. That'll show me to walk around with my X-ray vision turned off,” he cracks.

You bare your fangs at him, but half-heartedly.

“Whatever, I have stuff to do anyway,” you say and turn around.

“Cool, can I tag along?” Dave asks, falling in step next to you.

You stop in your tracks and give him a sidelong look.

“Why?” you ask suspiciously.

“No reason,” Dave shrugs. “Just thought we might spend some quality time together. Just you and me, like when we were two maladjusted teenagers, hurtling through space on a meteor, bonding over the fact that our few friends within reach were ignoring our existence in favor of make-outs and vent-exploring. So where are we going? What are we doing?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, man. Santa's little helper, that's me. Let's run over some grandmas with our reindeer. Keep the tradition alive in this brave new world.”

“I don't even understand any of that and I can still tell it's deeply disturbing. Your human culture was messed up, Dave.”

“Well, I guess that's the kinda thing that happens when your culture's the product of twelve bloodthirsty brats creating your universe. We should have complained to management. Oh wait, that would be you.” Dave sticks out the thumb and pinky of his hand and folds down the other fingers, putting the hand to his ear like he's talking on a portable auditory communication device. “Hello? Yes? I'd like to return this universe. It's slightly cancerous and it smells like creepy old clown. I demand a full reimbursement.”

“Request denied,” you sneer back. “Go fuck yourself until you shit out your vertebral column.”

Dave drops his hand. “I'm impressed. I think you might actually have a bright future in customer service. Seriously, A-plus, would be verbally abused again. So why are you avoiding Gamzee?”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

You turn away and stomp down the path. Dave catches up with you at a light jog. You curse your short stunted mutant legs.

You mean to tell him off, but what comes out of your mouth is “What the fuck did Rose tell you?”

“Didn't say much, to be honest. Vague psychobabble shit. But you've been cagey lately. And Gamzee, while not the only source of stress in your life, is the pretty obvious one. So are you breaking up with your murderail?” Dave winces a bit. “Sorry, I was going to be more subtle and cleverly steer the conversation until the subject came up naturally, but the curiosity's killing me. Please tell me it's not going to soon be replaced by Gamzee doing the same job for lower pay.”

You slow down and rub your face.

“No, we're not breaking up again. That's definitely not what is going to happen ever. We'll always be moirails.”

“If you're going to launch on the serendipity spiel, give me some warning, because I'll go back to the past, record my snores during the first time you gave it to me when you and Gam-Gam started holding hands again, and play them back for you.”

“The fact that you're so glib about serendipity just goes to demonstrate that you didn't listen to a word of my explanation the first time around.”

“Nope. Thought I made that clear. But really, that's on you, you should know me better by now.”

“Yes, my mistake, I apologize for expecting even a crumb of attention from some alleging to be my friend,” you hiss. After a long pause, you say, “It's not Gamzee that's the problem, it's _me_.”

“Dude, that's exactly what a person would say before breaking up with someone.”

“Will you quit your mouthy bullshit just for once and listen to the words pouring out of my facegash? Gamzee didn't do anything. I'm the one who screwed up. I disappointed him.”

Your voice cracks on the last word. You keep looking ahead, not stopping, not looking at Dave.

At least Dave is blessedly silent.

“Did he say that?” he asks after a while.

“He doesn't need to say anything.”

“I think we established by now that yes, he really fucking needs to open his mouth and explain what's going through his head, for the benefit and continued survival of everyone around him.”

“I mean he doesn't know yet.”

Dave makes an exasperated sound. “Okay, seriously, dude, I don't even like the guy and I can see that you're assuming the worst of him based on basically nothing. You could reveal that you're really two gnomes stacked on top of each other inside a trenchcoat and he'd still be spewing his bullshit about pale miracles and moirallegiance is magic and whatever it is you two discuss when you're cuddling in a pile of severed heads. He worships the ground you walk on. Not in a creepy clowncult way, either, and I think I speak for everyone when I say thank kringlefucking Christ for that.”

This just makes it worse, though. Something in your chest twists with guilt and shame. You are having a terrible realization.

“I'm a repulsive, degenerate douchecrank,” you say. “I don't deserve a moirail-- fuck-- I'm such a disrespectful-- god, how am I the worst moirail in this relationship, how is that even possible--”

“Whoa, no, slow down now, halt, cease, desist.” Dave waves his hands. “You didn't do anything to Gamzee, man. Come on. You're like a murder spree and a batshit religious pilgrimage through space and time behind him on the worst moirail rankings. Chill.”

“I'm a cowardly piece of shit and I justified it by making him out to be the reason I'm acting like a bad moirail,” you hiss at Dave.

“Then go apologize to him, don't stand here yelling at me,” he yells back.

You look at him, stunned for a moment.

“No, you're right,” you say, amazed at Dave's insight. Not that it's much of an insight, he was really just stating the obvious, but even the briefest flicker of understanding of the delicate workings of moirallegiance is amazing coming from him. “I'll go now. Thanks a lot, Dave. I guess even a broken time keeping device is right once a night.”

“You mean twice a day.”

“Let's not exaggerate.”

 

* * *

 

Gamzee is not at his hive. Neither is he at Terezi's treehive or Tavros's cottage or in any of the communal buildings. He is nowhere you look and nobody seems to have seen him in the past few hours.

You go back home and make a beeline for your husktop, with every intention of opening Trollian and, if Gamzee is not online, harassing everyone who is until one of them coughs up his location.

The husktop flickers to life, but you feel a strange prickling on the back of your neck, as if you're not alone.

You turn around slowly.

Sprawled on his back over the pile in your respiteblock, Gamzee is sound asleep. He looks ridiculous. His mouth hangs open comically and he is drooling all over himself, but your bloodpusher thumps with an unexpected wave of affection.

You kick off your shoes and crawl next to him on the pile, curling up into a lump and wedging yourself against his body. You lean your forehead against the side of his chest and you soundlessly start crying.

You're only two sobs into what is shaping up to be a long and embarrassing crying jag when Gamzee turns on his side and wraps an arm around you

“Best friend, what's wrong?” Gamzee asks, voice thick with sleep.

It's like a dam breaks, and all of a sudden you can't stop crying. He scoops you up in his arms and shooshes you, over and over. You're freaking out your moirail, but you can't stop. You want to, you really do, but you can't.

“I was l-looking for you,” you manage to choke out between hiccups. “I r-really was.”

“Aw, best friend, I'm sorry. I shoulda up and known that.”

“Don't ap-apologize, I--”

He paps your face, making soothing trills. They sound rusty and unpracticed, but you still feel yourself calm down. Steadily, your sobs subside and your tears dry on your cheeks, pink and itchy.

“Shit,” you remark as you pull back your head to look at Gamzee's shirt, “I got my snot all over you.”

“Ain't no thing, palebro, s'all good,” he replies, cheered by the fact that you've stopped bawling. “Better in than out, like they say.”

“That's what they say about puke,” you point out.

“Same miracle, bro. Crying's like your soul puking on out all the feelings it can't hold.” He cups your face as he says this and wipes your eyes with his thumbs.

“That is the most awful thing I've ever heard,” you snort. “I hope I get a stroke and forget the last ten minutes ever happened, and that horrendous comment is half the reason why.”

“Fair 'nough. You gonna tell at me what's all bothering you now?”

“I--” Your throat closes up.

You take his hands and put them over your horns. He gives you a dumbfounded look for a few second, until he thinks to part your hair and look at your hornbed. You watch his face, wait for it to twist in disappointment. But it just softens, sad and pale at once. It makes you want to cry again.

“Oh. You doing alright now, though?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?” you say, giving a short, bitter laugh. “I'm messed up, I messed up, how can you stand being around a wreck like me--”

He pulls you into a hug, tight and fierce.

“Don't be saying that, bro,” he says. “It's true I don't be wanting you to hurt yourself none, and that shit counts with words as much as with claws. Now, I ain't been here when you got your claws into your flesh, but I'm here at this motherfucking moment and I can't letting you all beat yourself up with words neither.”

“Is that your way of telling me to shut up?”

“Nah, palebro. No such thing. Just to being careful of what you say about my best friend, you dig?”

“Yeah, okay. I just... I thought maybe you'd be disappointed.”

Gamzee laughs.

“Motherfucker, how would me being disappointed at you be a thing that's all rational? I thought it would be on the other way 'round.”

“No, that's stupid. You didn't do anything.”

“Yeah, bro. Didn't do a damn thing while my palest diamond was all up and twisted up inside.”

“Oh god, we're terrible. Just profoundly terrible. How did we manage to get this far into a relationship without accidentally tripping into a volcano and exploding into a lava rain of embarrassment is beyond me.”

“Miracles, bro.”

“Yeah, it figures some kind of dark sorcery would be to blame,” you snort.

You're feeling drained and empty, but clean and light inside, as if you really did puke out the bad feelings like Gamzee said. This is what a really good jam feels like. Hygiene for the soul.

You nuzzle Gamzee's shoulder.

“If I slip up again, I'm going to tell you. Next time, I'll come straight to you,” you say, your voice low and rough.

“Come to me so we can jam and sort you out all nice, bro. Come because you want to. Don't just come outta some obligation you think you gotta make up for.”

“I will. I will, I promise, I just... I promised I'd come to you if I ever felt the urge, and then I didn't and... I don't want you to think you're the problem when it's actually me.”

“Nah, you ain't never caused no problems. We're here jamming, aren't we? Getting our shit sorted proper.”

“Getting _my_ shit sorted proper,” you correct. “But yeah, I guess you're right. Fuck, you're right about everything.”

“So we're cool? You feeling alright?”

You nod into his shoulder.

You both sit there for a while. Probably longer than you thought, because everything goes fuzzy after a while and the next thing you remember is Gamzee lowering you to the pile and curling up around you.

You sleep deeply with the cool weight at your back. For the next few hours, you can't think of anything that might be wrong in the world.


End file.
